Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Thoughts travel my head
down hateful,
repetitive,
full-of-pain avenues.
The tortured voice
of evil is mine,
attacking:
you are fat,
you are stupid.
you’re so alone.
Despair lies close
to the surface.
How do we
keep from giving in?
Can we learn to live
with our shortcomings
when confusion and regret
are at constant intersection,
crashing,
leaving us injured
and bleeding
at the side of the road?
The literature of her body
tempts him.
Reading by candlelight
he turns the pages,
but holds his love true.
The air grows chilly
with the smell of deceit
and the dark man
has much he won’t reveal.
Betrayal comes
in a small bloody package,
spattering
across his chest,
as the charade begins
with a kiss.
In the crevices between,
she is chained,
she is strong,
recoiling from the horror
of seeing him with someone else.
Still your girl
always,
but altered.
Not real,
but painful.
Not over,
but done.